


Lemonade

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Bittersweet, Gift Fic, Kids Being Devilish, Post-Canon, just a pair of ex-workers looking at their spawns n sipping lemonade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23084254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: It’s a good sunny day to watch small menaces bring the world to their knees.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Lemonade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Control_Room](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/gifts).



The sun is rather warm.

Willy sits on the porch, a glass of lemonade in his hands and little Sam wrapped groggily on his lap. Marina is running wild in the yard, feverishly searching for whatever it is she needs - maybe a few sticks, or some strange herb; Gonner is trying to gather some sort of particular rocks inside a bucket.

A familiar profile follows his daughters silently.

“Did I ev’r tell ya I punched a priest in the dick when I was six?”

The man takes a sip from his glass.

“Nope.”

Niamh looks at the kids with her cheek resting in her palm.

“Ya, he came over to tell me Nanna she’d be goin’ ta hell so I crushed his dick and got suspended from church fer two weeks.”

“Suspended?”

“Forced me ta stay out.”

“What a tragedy.”

She laughs a little: “Joke’s on them, first thing I did when they let me back in was spit on the floor, curse, ‘n’ leave. Haven’t gone back into a church since.”

They sip in silence for a while.

Thaische is breaking something with his cane. There’s no splattery sound or anguished noise, so it’s most likely not alive.

“You think he’s curious about what’s the inside of a church like?”

“Hm. Maybe.”

Sam babbles in his sleep, his tiny hands grasping at his dad’s shirt; his mumblings quiet down as Willy gently bounces him on his leg, and his little mouth is soon covered by a small thumb as he goes back to napping peacefully.

“What’re they doin’, again?”

“Trying to summon a hellhound.”

“Ah…”

“Hey.”

The words freeze in Willy’s throat as Niamh turns to him, waiting for him to continue. He knows what he wants to say - what he wants to ask; he imagines she knows as well, but the reminder of how thick her skull can be makes him a little skeptical on that. He wants to speak, yet he can’t. He can’t bring himself to think of what could happen to the two of them, to their hearts, if he goes through with the question.

This warm, warm sun.

Doesn’t it remind you of…?

It’s an old, painful thing. It’s been so long. Maybe he shouldn’t bring this up.

Her hand slips under his, and for the second they share that contact before he flinches away he swears he can see the ivy trying to grapple onto his skin.

He puts too little faith in her.

The lemonade is deliciously sweet. Fresh, too.

An excited, nearly maniacal laugh: Gonner furiously mixes the bucket’s contents, while Thaische looks with trepidation as Marina holds an open box of matches in her very dangerous hands.

“Should ye stop her before she burns the whole hill down?”

He hums.

“I think I’ll let this be a Shawn problem.”

Their glasses clink together gently. It’s a good sunny day to watch small menaces bring the world to their knees.


End file.
